


only in my nightmares

by HaleHole (SweetFanfics)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Minor Character Death, Pre-Slash If You Squint, post-Currents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-20 09:59:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1506332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetFanfics/pseuds/HaleHole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn’t supposed to go down like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. only in my nightmares

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd. I guess you could call this coda for Currents?

This wasn’t the scene Stiles had been anticipating, had been bracing himself for. He had been ready to hear that they would be dealing with one less Alpha. More than ready to be told that someone had gotten badly hurt in the process. But this? 

 

Stiles stared down at Boyd’s peaceful expression and thought, ‘ _Only in my nightmares._ ' Derek was rocking back and forth, looking a second away from pitching himself forward onto Cora and Boyd. Just the way his shoulders were shaking, blood stained fingers trembling… Stiles could well imagine the look on Derek's face. 

 

It wasn’t supposed to go down like this. Derek lowered his head, as though he couldn’t stand the sound of Cora’s crying. At this point, it would be so easy to place the blame on Derek, to declare him responsible for Boyd’s death. But the way the werewolf was frozen in place told Stiles that even if no one said the words, Derek had already accepted them to be his truth.

 

After a moment’s hesitation, Stiles reached out for Derek. He knew what it was like to blame yourself for someone’s death. Stiles could still remember being told about his mother’s death and how the world had shrunk down into a pinpoint centred around the phrase ‘It was my fault’. He remembered the numbness that had taken over him, spreading through him so fast that Stiles had been scared that he was going to pass out. But the sensation hadn’t gone to his aching heart, which clenched painfully tight as he kept reminding himself of his guilt, of his crime.

 

In the brief second of doubt, he wondered if Derek wanted to be comforted. Would he want someone to tell him wordlessly that he wasn’t alone in this moment? That even though he was breaking, there were people around him ready and willing to help put him back together. Maybe it didn’t matter if Derek wanted it or not. He  _needed_ to know that.

 

Stiles pressed his trembling hand against Derek’s shoulder, squeezing his hard because he needed the comfort just as much as Derek did at that moment. Watching the proud alpha’s head lower made Stiles swallow harshly, eyes moving down as well. It was hard to miss the blood staining Derek’s fingertips. And Derek couldn’t tear his eyes off them either.

 

He anchored himself through the touch, tightening his grip to the point of pain when Derek let out a noise that sounded far too close to a sniff. Stiles desperately wished that there was something else he could do. Something more than squeezing Derek’s shoulder.  _'But what?'_ Stiles thought miserably, feeling the urge to cry rising the longer Cora’s sobs echoed inside the dark loft.


	2. even if you hide, you will kneel before the truth

Fingers tightening on Derek’s shoulder, Stiles murmured. “Derek.” The older man didn’t acknowledge his own name or the touch, continuing to kneel in the cold water as he stared at Boyd’s lifeless body and Cora curled over it.  
  


The shivers that had been wracking his body had subsided a while ago but since then, Derek had turned into a living statue. Were it not for the barely perceivable rise and fall under his palm, Stiles would have thought that Derek had stopped breathing as well.   
  


Lydia had made her way over, barely glancing at the water or the damage it did to her shoes and clothes as she knelt beside Cora and stroked her back. The female werewolf’s loud sobs had subsided into sniffles and under Lydia’s hand, even those trailed off.  
  


Isaac was kneeling across from Cora, having staggered over from the doorway only to fall down bare inches away as though all the life had been sucked out of him. Ms. Blake’s approach had been quieter, scared that the ripples she was causing with every step might wind up breaking something.  ”Come on.” Lydia’s quiet voice melted into the whispering water, pulling Cora up to her feet.   
  


The pained noise that Cora let out made Derek’s hands twitch, stained fingertips curling into his palm. Stiles swallowed harshly at the sight, feeling the ache in his knuckles as he tightened his grip further. “Derek,” He spoke again in a firm but gentle tone. “You gotta get up.”  
  


He gave the teacher a meaningful look, pointing at Isaac with his gaze before kneeling down next to Derek, hand still on his shoulder. Death and dying was a concept Stiles was far too familiar with - it was an acquaintance he wished he hadn’t made so early on in life - but dealing with its aftermath and the people left behind wasn’t something he thought he’d ever get the hang off.  
  


The devastated,  _broken_ look in Derek’s eyes had faded away into a hollow pain that twisted Stiles’ gut. He couldn’t even begin to imagine how Derek was feeling at that moment. How could  _anyone_  understand the feelings of someone who had been forced into killing their pack member?  
  


"Let’s get you out of here." Ms. Blake’s told Isaac gently, helping him up to his feet despite the tremors that were making her shake with every step. Similarly, Lydia was holding Cora up against her side and walking them both out of the flooded apartment.  
  


Stiles watched the ripples that were caused with their every step, watched them nudge Boyd’s body before working their way around it. Bitter nausea crawled up his throat, wanting to spill out into the dank water. This had to be a nightmare. It couldn’t be their reality. How had this all happened…  
  


Blaming the cold water for the shudder that went through him, Stiles brought his hand down to grip Derek’s wrist. “Here we go…” Stiles mumbled to himself, hoping that his knees wouldn’t give out. He brought the man’s arm over his shoulder, second arm around Derek’s waist and pushed up.  
  


It might be his imagination, it might be the waterlogged clothes or it might be the fact that Stiles was just  _so damned tired_ of losing people that he had a hard time getting both of them up to their feet. He wobbled dangerous, feet slipping as they straightened up. “Stiles?” Ms. Blake asked from the doorway, face tight with concern. He had to hand it to her, she was keeping it pretty well together considering the circumstances. “Do you need any help?”  
  


With a quick look at Derek, Stiles shook his head and adjusted his grip. “I’ll manage.” he answered shortly, swiping an angry hand across his face before he took a step forward. Derek was nothing but dead weight against him. It was a lot harder to get him to walk with him when all Derek seemed interested in doing was nothing.  
  


 _'Don't trip, don't trip,'_   Stiles told himself firmly, beginning a slow shuffle towards the door.

 

“Wait,” Derek croaked, body half turning back. The broken tone nearly made Stiles’ numb fingers loose their grip. “Boyd…”  
  


Stiles stared up at the ceiling, forcing himself not to blink before he choked out, “I’ll think of something later and get Scott to help. Let’s get you guys outta here first, okay?” With another swipe across his eyes, Stiles began the long trek towards the door.   
  


' _One step at a time_ ', he told himself. ' _Don’t think about anything else right now. Focus on getting these guys to a safe, dry place. First thing’s first_.'

 

When he finally managed to drag himself and Derek to the stairs, Stiles was more than grateful for Lydia and Mrs. Blake stepping forward to help. “We need to take them somewhere else…” Stiles murmured to no one in particular, sliding his wet palms through his hair.  
  


 _'Don't look back. Don't look back,'_  Stiles begged himself, guilt already twisting his stomach into painful knots.  _'Too late, too late. Shoulda driven faster.'_  

 

If only he’d ran up the stairs faster. If only he’d pushed the gas pedal down harder. If only…  
  


Stiles blinked back the helpless rage and guilt, not meeting anyone’s eyes as he tried not to choke on the despair that was just building and building and…

 

“I can take Cora home with me.” Lydia offered quietly. “We can drop Isaac off at Scott’s. Can you take Derek home?” She was looking at the older teacher with a searching gaze.  
  


Ms. Blake looked torn. Her gaze rested long and hard on Derek before she shook her head, most of her face hidden behind her long tresses. “I’m sorry. I can’t. I…After what happened tonight…I can’t.” The apologetic tone coupled with the way that she trailed off said it all. Stiles couldn’t begrudge her the desire to take a step back from this whole mess.  
  


Sighing heavily, Stiles wondered why he was even doing this. “He can spend the night with me.” His dad  _might_  be home already but considering Derek’s catatonic state, it wouldn’t be too hard to hide him for one night. Not like he hadn’t done it before anyways.  
  


The werewolves were silent, curled up against each other for reasons what were probably more to do with comfort than seeking warmth. Lydia nodded, arms wrapped tight around her waist when she looked over Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles watched her lips press together. Despite the poor lighting, the teenager could tell that her face had lost some of it’s color. “What about…” She jerked her head towards Boyd, unable to finish her sentence.  
  


Ms. Blake looked over as well. Even after everything that had happened and the strained look on her face, Stiles noted with a certain level of detachment that she still looked pretty. “We should take him out of the water,” She stated firmly, stepping over her discarded heels before she walked back into the water.  
  


Without a word, Stiles followed the teacher. He could hear Lydia toeing her shoes off, cursing slightly before she stepped into the water. The sound of their breathing sounded too loud, same as his dull heartbeat thudding away under his ribs. Stiles could barely hear the water rippling and swirling around their feet over the sound of his own heart.  
  


All too soon, the trio was standing around Boyd’s body. The boy looked so peaceful. It made Stiles want to cry and scream at the same time. It wasn’t right! It wasn’t  _fair!_  

 

“We should at least get him out of the water.” Ms. Blake repeated in a wavering voice. The way Lydia nodded reminded Stiles of puppets and dolls being pulled around by rough hands.  
  


Without a word, Stiles moved to take hold of Boyd’s feet. “You guys get…” he pointed at the shoulders before gesturing down at the legs. “I’ll…” Kneeling down once more, (Stiles was never going to go near a body of water larger than a puddle for  _months_  after tonight) Stiles wrapped his hands tight around Boyd’s ankles.  
  


A loud splash made the trio start and turn around. The werewolves were making their way towards them with Derek at the helm. “We’ll do it,” He declared quietly. “It’s our…” It was only when Isaac and Cora came to stand next to him, shoulder to shoulder that Derek seemed to find the strength to finish his sentence. “He was our brother. This is should be our responsibility.”  
  


Lydia and Ms. Blake took a respectful step back, letting Cora and Isaac come forward. For his part, Stiles remained in place and murmured, “He was my friend. Or I wanted us to be… I’m doing this too.” He was ready to argue his lungs out but was supremely grateful when no one argued back. Sighing heavily, Stiles knelt down with the others and counted, “Ready? One, two, three, lift!”  
  


 —  
  


Parking his Jeep in its usual place, Stiles eyed the front door of his house with great trepidation. What was his Dad doing home? Stiles had expected the man to be at the Station doing paper work or be at the hospital taking Deaton’s statement!  
  


Tapping a nervous rhythm out against the steering wheel, Stiles wondered what to do. Panicking wasn’t going to do him any good at this point. Done bun, can’t be undone and all that. His dad had most likely heard him pull up and would be expecting him to walk in any minute now. This was going to be tricky…   
  


Any other time and day he’d tell Derek to come up to his room through his window but today? He wouldn’t trust the man to tie his own sneakers. Stiles pressed his forehead against the steering wheel, praying for just one ( _'One God dammit!'_ ) stupid day so that he could take in a deep breath and brace himself.   
  


Might as well just get it over with. Scrubbing a knuckle under one eye, Stiles gave Derek a tired glance. “Just follow my lead okay?” Derek nodded once, stepping out of the Jeep and following Stiles like a lost puppy. Stiles wanted to curbstomp his brain into the pavement for making bad jokes at the wrong time, even if it was inside his own head.  
  


"Dad?" He called out as soon as he’d opened the door, hand ushering Derek in. "I’m home!" Stiles gestured for the man to walk in, pointing towards the staircase before declaring, "I’m heading up to my room!"  
  


But as luck would have it, they had barely gone up three steps when his Dad poked his head out of the kitchen and saw them. “Stiles?” The bland tone immediately shifted into something wary when he caught sight of Derek. “Derek. What’s going on here?” Stiles grimaced at that tone. It always sounded so nice and polite but actually meant that his Dad wasn’t going to put up with any bullshit.  
  


Stiles was kind of really grateful that for once, the lie wasn’t going to be a lie as much as an abbreviated version of the truth. “His apartment got flooded.” Stiles explained, pointing at their damp clothes. “Isaac called me and asked me if he could stay with us cause there’s not enough room at Scott’s and I said yes cause well. Can’t leave a guy high and dry.”  
  


The wince his Dad made at the bad joke was well worth it. “How bad is it?” Stiles gave Derek a tiny nudge, giving a tiny nod towards his father.  
  


A tiny bit of life returned in the older man’s pale eyes, like an ember being prodded back to life. He blinked slowly before replying, “Pretty bad.”  
  


Stiles immediately jumped in, wanting this conversation to be over before his Dad had a chance to think things over. “Which is an understatement 'cause it’s like 5 inches of water. I saw it with my own eyes! There’s flooding and then there’s enough water to recreate the Titanic. And speaking of.” He slapped Derek’s shoulder, making a face at the wet noise. “We’d better get dry before either of us gets sick.”  
  


"Good thing I did the laundry yesterday." The Sheriff mumbled just loud enough. "Derek, you’re welcome to stay as long as you need. The couch is pretty comfortable if you-"  
  


"Dad!" Stiles cut off with a frown. "Come on! Not the couch! He can stay in my room. I’ll take the couch. He’s our guest." Before Derek could say anything, Stiles pointed a finger at him. "And nothing you say is gonna make me change my mind. Got it."  
  


Derek blinked at him, peering at him in the same dazed way he had the Sheriff. “That’s settled then!” Stiles chirped, giving Derek a nudge up the stairs. “I’m gonna show him where the bathroom and the good towels are.”  
  


"Be nice!" His father called up to them.

 

Stiles snorted and yelled back, "I’m always nice!" He didn’t even have to pretend to be affronted when he heard his father’s disbelieving snort.

 

Whatever, he  _so_ was nice. With the people he liked anyways.  
  


Once they had conquered the stairs, Stiles guided Derek into the bathroom. “You can take a shower if you want. Just watch out for the hot water knob, it sticks a little bit. Or I can just get you a change of clothes and towels?”   
  


He was ready to back out and give Derek some privacy when the older man shook his head. “No shower?” Stiles asked. Jesus. Derek had never been talkative or anything but now it was just… The teenager was suddenly reminded of his first meeting with the man. Of how angry Derek had been after the loss of his sister. Stiles could remember the unease he would feel every time he was near Derek because no one person should look or give off such a feeling of rage. But despite it all, Derek had fought tooth and nail to survive. It made a stark contrast to the broken man in front of him made.

 

 _'What I'd give to have the old grump back.'_ The teenager thought to himself, pulling the towel off its rack before he dragged Derek into his room. Stiles left the door open and Derek standing in the middle of his room, towel in hand, while he went through his drawers. He still had the shirt that Derek had borrowed last time (and stretched out) and where had he put those gray sweatpants…  
  


After a little digging, Stiles managed to locate both items. The sweats might be a bit on the ratty side but they were comfortable and most importantly, they ought to fit Derek right. Stiles was still anticipating that they might be an inch or two higher than the man’s ankles. But beggars, choosers and all that.  
  


After he had pulled out some clothes for himself, Stiles walked back to Derek (who was staring down at the towel, looking like he didn’t know what to do with it) and plopped the clothes on top of the terry cloth. “You can change here. I’ll go the bathroom. Just toss your clothes in the basket. I’ll deal with 'em later.”  
  


He stood and waited for some kind of response from Derek that would mean ‘I heard you, I’m going to do that’. Once he got his nod, Stiles patted Derek’s shoulder once more before walking out of the room. He gave the man’s back one last peek  before carefully shutting the door behind him.  
  


Stiles sighed as he entered the bathroom, rubbing his hand over his face. “What a day.” He mumbled under his breath. Looking into the mirror, the teenager felt an odd moment of dissonance. He couldn’t recognize the tired, gaunt looking stranger he was peering at.  
  


With a small shake, Stiles deliberately turned his attention away from the mirror. He peeled his wet clothes off, muttering under his breath at the wet denim that clung stubbornly to his knees and calves. It took him longer than he would have liked to get ready for bed (his feet getting tangled up in his sweats), which was why he tumbled back into the bedroom, all limbs.  
  


Derek was seated on the bed, in dry clothes thankfully, the towel draped over his head. The urge to sigh with relief with high but Stiles managed to subdue it. “So.” He began. “Wanna fill me in on what happened tonight?” Might as well rip that band aid off.  
  


The way his question made Derek go tight however, made Stiles regret his direct approach. For a moment Stiles was genuinely worried that if Derek held himself any tighter, he was going to break at his next breath. “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” Stiles offered weakly, wincing at his own lack of tact.  
  


It was like watching a toymaker wind up a toy. Stiles could almost see a big hand turning the key round and round in Derek’s back. His broad shoulders grew so stiff, Stiles wondered if a single touch would cause cracks to form. The tension built up as the seconds ticked past. “What’s there to tell.” Derek’s hoarse voice almost made Stiles lean in to catch his words. “I killed Boyd.”  
  


There. He knew it. Stiles just  _knew_ that Derek was going to say that. “Yeah. Try again, with more details.” Stiles replied, taking a few steps forward. “You, Isaac and… Boyd,” His voice cracked slightly at the teenagers name before he ploughed forward. “were waiting for the alpha’s to show up. They showed up with a hostage. You had to fight them off because they’d cut the main powerline so you couldn’t shock them like the original plan. How’m I doing so far?”  
  


Never let it be said that the only thing he had inherited from his father was their killer wit and love for puns. Derek nodded, lowering his face so that Stiles couldn’t see it. “When you turned the electricity on… Boyd… Kali and me were caught in it. The twins held me down and Kali…”  
  


Stiles stared at the towel, frowning heavily at Derek’s words. “Kali and the twins forced you to kill him.” He stated in a hollow voice. Just the way Derek’s shoulders slumped at the declaration was answer enough for Stiles. The urge to go out, track the alpha werewolves down and take them down had never been higher.  _'First chance I get, I'm going to make them pay.'_  Stiles promised himself.  
  


"No." Derek rasped. "It was me. I was the one who-"  
  


"Did you  _want_ to do it?” Stiles cut him off sharply.  
  


The werewolf shook his head, eyes still locked on the ground. “No.Of course not. But-“  
  


"They  _used you_. Derek.” Stiles took another step forward, kneeling down so that he could duck his head to catch the man’s eyes. The haunted look in them made his voice come out more firm than he had planned. “You need to know that. There's no but about it. We all  _know_ that you’d never kill any of us. So don’t… just don’t think that you're to blame. Because if there’s anyone to blame, it’s the alphas.”  
  


Was he sugar coating things? Maybe a tiny bit. But they needed Derek  _whole_ if they were going to have even a tiny chance at coming out of this alive. Scott needed all the help he could get.  _Derek_ needed all the help  _he_ could get. And Stiles was  _done_ losing the people around him.   
  


"But-" With an exasperated eye roll, Stiles raised both hands to grab the towel and scrub it over Derek’s head. The surprised noise the werewolf let out was outmatched by the louder, "You say that you killed him once more time and I’m going to make you eat wolfsbane jello okay? I’ll look up how to make jello, find wolfsbane and force feed you the results. Now get into bed and sleep."  
  


Maybe things would be better in the morning, Stiles thought to himself as he straightened up. His hands dragged the towel off, lips twitching at the mess Derek’s hair had become. Things were supposed to be easier to deal with over a full night’s rest, right? “Stiles…” Derek began but the teenager shook his head and firmly pushed the older man down to the be.  
  


Before Derek’s back had hit the sheets, Stiles made his way over to the desk. “If you need anything,” he stated while picking up his laptop. “I’ll be downstairs.” Stiles turned to stare Derek down, relieved that he was lying down. “You need an extra blanket or anything?” He asked from the doorway, one hand on the lights switch.  
  


Derek shook his head, body turning over on his side. “Good night then.” Stiles turned the lights off. He stood in the doorway for a moment, watching the still figure on his bed before carefully shutting the door. Leaning back against the cool wood, Stiles tipped his head back and sighed once more. “What a day.” And knowing their odds, tomorrow was probably gonna suck even more because someone was going to find Boyd’s body and then…  
  


Shaking his head, Stiles pushed himself to his feet and trudged downstairs. Not tonight. Maybe after he had woken up and eaten something he’d think about that but not right now. _‘Later.’_  He told himself.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](http://candypinkcocks.tumblr.com)


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